


a helper

by jaythewriter



Category: Clear Lakes 44, Marble Hornets
Genre: Disability, Gen, Otherworldly entity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 02:38:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4729613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaythewriter/pseuds/jaythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fascination, for Them, led to a fondness, a need to help. They can only interfere with human life so very much, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a helper

**Author's Note:**

> Presenting, a Clear Lakes 44 fic, probably the first, maybe, I hope? it’s very much just thoughts and headcanons and just basically me playing around. I know it’ll be utterly destroyed by canon soon but that’s okay.

They see how he struggles.

They see his shaking legs, the sharp breath he takes when he rises to stand. He winces if he forces himself to hold his weight very long-- and he often does.

People demand so much physical work from one another. They never stop and think, maybe some need a rest.

They see all, they see many who live the life that he leads, leaning on canes and fighting to make ends meet.

They want to help everyone.

Though they may see all, they cannot stretch out their many tingly arms and reach every person that might need another hand. They are one creature, one form, one being. They are trapped in one place at one time, physically, and those that they can see, they are everywhere.

So, they see him, he is near, and they settle for him.

What is it that all humans need, that they can bring to him? Something simple, something that won't catch his eye and make him question if he is alone.

They know of the many things that humans need-- but they see what is most important when he is retiring to bed one cold evening, a thick blanket drawn around his shoulders. He limps to the fridge, stoops over to open the door and peer inside.

He sighs, and lets the door swing shut again, clicking.

They blink, and they feel their insides surge in power. Realization. They think this is what smiling feels like.

It looks like a simple task at first. They've observed him coming and leaving this building many times, entering empty handed and exiting carrying bags stocked to the brim with food. Surely they can do the same.

But.

What is easiest? Food isn't so simple, it needs a flame or ice to become proper and good. That much they know. Why that is, they aren't completely sure, but they don't question the oddities of human life. They're likely to be just as odd in the average human's eyes.

This place is big, bigger than necessary it would seem. They see rows upon rows of colorful packaging, screaming for attention and money. Human spawn cry out and chase one another, their exhausted parents standing by and willing them to behave.

It's chaos and they will have no part of it.

They dart off to the quietest section of the building they can find, where the lights dim and there aren't any eyes staring up their hood. The air is pungent with warm sugar and flour. They forget the tense atmosphere that drifts over the active parts of the strange place; they could find slumber here.

Here, they see bread, cakes, lovely and frosted expertly. Jars of spread, sugary and sticky, surround them on all sides, stacked to the tops of their shelves. Is that what he would want? It doesn't look whole... but chocolate mixed with peanut butter, they find they wish they had a mouth. They should think about forming one, perhaps.

They settle for peanut butter and the smallest loaf of something called raisin bread. Nobody is here, it makes for easy storage. They have seen those desperate enough to steal, know how much trouble they could run into with nosey humans if they aren't careful.

This jacket covers them, contains their thousands of shapeless limbs, and it hides the food well. They maintain an innocent facade, back straight, the legs that they pretend to possess taking slow steps.

It isn't long until they're outside-- and the apartment is across the road, nobody home, no car, they make it to their destination easily because the man has just about the most flimsy lock on the market.

They don't wait long, or, rather, they do, but they don't feel it. Time might as well be a fictional concept in their world, and they can be a part of tomorrow before anybody else in the world because they simply saw their form there already.

They sit and perch in the trees, the slumbering birds around them cooing in their sleep. In their eyes, they find the man limping through his front door. He arrives without a cane; another day of feigning wellness for the sake of a paycheck.

He unties his apron, makes for the kitchen, his stomach audibly grumbling.

It isn't long until he sees that he, somehow, must have left the peanut butter and bread out last night. If he remembers correctly, they weren't even there, he didn't have any-- but then again, it wouldn't be the first time he's left food out and just let it slip his mind.

He eats well that night.

They sit under the moonlight, static surging in their soul. Humans are so wonderful.


End file.
